Altered Images
by Knight Ranger
Summary: A companion story to Reflections of Reality, following the path of Canonverse Willow as she explores the flipside of the mirror.
1. Inside the Mirror

**#1: Inside the Mirror**

After a click, a low sound resonates through the room. Willow stirs slightly, mumbling to herself. Half a minute later, her ears start to process the sound and send a query to conscious thought. Despite sleep causing a logjam, conscious thought eventually catches up but realises it doesn't know what to make of the sound, so sends intructions for her eyes to open for more information. Willow blinks sleepily, then furrows her brow as a set of red numbers stare back at her. The sound is making more sense now. It's music, but it sounds kind of old. Someone singing about numbers and trucks.

The music starts to fade away and a deep voice can be heard as the red numbers change. "This is KCSB, the Sound" - the word reverberates like a wave - "of the Underground." A set of drums kick in and a different, more manic voice is heard. "It's Day Tripper folks, and boy it's shaping up to be another hot one out there today, a high of ninety-five expected by noon today. So girls if you're listening, take off those tops. I don't care if you're going to the beach or going to the office, take advantage of it. The sun's up there and it's not going away. It's the summer that's never gonna end. And on that note, here's The Motels."

Willow continues to stare at the device on her bedside table as more music starts to play. This is strange, she doesn't have a clock-radio. Pulling herself up, she picks up the chrome and black unit and finds the button to turn it off. Rubbing an eye with her hand, she starts to get out of bed when she freezes at the sight around her. Where is she? This isn't her room, it can't be.

Slowly she stares around the room. A beanbag chair sits in the middle of the floor with a couple of magazines dropped beside it. A stacked hi-fi unit is proudly standing with shelves and shelves of records alongside it, the vinyl kind she remembers music shops selling until a few years ago. Against another wall, a portable TV sits on a storage unit with the blue/green display of a VCR dimly glowing underneath it. And the walls themselves? They're covered with posters. Some of them seem to be bands, although she hasn't heard of any of them. Others appear to be art prints with highly stylised futuristic themes.

This is a boy's room, it must be. And it definitely isn't Xander's. But what would she be doing in a boy's room? She isn't even allowed to have boys in her own room, never mind this. _Calm down, Willow_, she tells herself as she feels her heart racing. _There must be a rational explanation._ Her heart almost stops though when she looks down at herself and notices what she's wearing, or rather what she isn't wearing. She's clad only in her underwear and a faded black t-shirt. Where are her PJs? What is going on?

The situation looks like the aftermath of some wild drunken party, except she doesn't go to parties and doesn't drink. And she certainly doesn't sleep in strange boy's rooms in just her underwear. _Think, Willow, think! _She'd gone to the Bronze with Buffy and Xander. Buffy had left to go on patrol, so she came back home and did some homework before going to bed... That was it! An average ordinary night for the school nerd with only two friends... three if you count Giles. What is she missing?

Hellmouth! Something weird like this has to be Hellmouth related. _Call Giles_, her mind tells her. She looks around a few seconds for a phone, finally finding a cordless one sitting in a wallmount near the bed. Quickly she punches in the number of Giles' office phone and waits. One ring... two rings... three..."

The call is picked up. "Sunnydale Highschool Library."

Willow furrows her brow. "Giles?" The voice sounds wrong for him.

There's a pause. "I'm sorry, who are you looking for?"

"Rupert Giles. He's the librarian," Willow answers simply.

"I'm afraid you must have the wrong number," the voice tells her apologetically. "I'm covering for the librarian, but his name isn't Giles. In fact I don't know of a Rupert Giles anywhere else on-"

"But he's got to be there," Willow interrupts, panicking. "It's Giles... with a 'G'," she adds. She hears a small sigh, then a tapping in the background, like someone operating a computer keyboard.

"I'm sorry, I can't find the name on the staff register. Are you sure he works here?"

Willow isn't sure of anything anymore. It feels like someone has picked her up and dropped her on a different planet. "Um... maybe... maybe I have got the wrong number."

There's a pause. "Alright then. Have a nice day." Then the line cuts.

Willow hits the off button and clutches the phone in both hands. How could Giles not be registered as a school employee? This is making even less sense by the second. Buffy, she has to talk to Buffy. Turning the phone back on, she calls Buffy's number and takes another look around the room as she waits. "Please pick up," she murmurs to herself, then freezes again as she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the door. The receiver slides out of her grasp and drops to the floor as she stares at her reflection, open-mouthed.


	2. 1 Point 21 Gigawatts Later

**#2: 1.21 Gigawatts Later**

After finding a pair of pants on the floor and pulling them on to cover herself up, Willow ventures out of the door and starts to explore the house thoroughly. Twenty minutes later and she's in a daze. Amazing as it seems, this is her home. _Her_ home. Sure there are some unsettling differences, although none as great as what she now recognises as her room. Picturing it with her own furnishings, it's easy to recognise. She actually wonders why the distinctive french doors on the east wall hadn't given it away.

Then there are the photos she finds in a drawer, the subjects clearly recognisable as her parents and herself at different times. The problem is she doesn't remember any of them being taken. However one of the more recent photos out on display clearly matches the image she saw staring back at her in the mirror.

So what's caused everything to change?

An image pops into Willow's mind from one of her favourite movies: Marty returning to 1985 to find it all dark and nasty as a result of Future Biff giving himself the almanac in the past. Time travel! Is it really possible? She goes over the copious hours of research put in with Giles, trying to remember if she's read something that covers this theory. Nothing immediately springs to mind, but that doesn't mean it's not possible. If this is a result of time-travel though and her past has been altered, how can she put things right again? It isn't like she has a DeLorean and a spare rod of plutonium handy. Whatever the cause, she has to assume that she'll be here for a while at least, so she resolves to make the best she can of the situation.

Going back upstairs, Willow runs herself a cool shower which helps to relax her somewhat. Returning to her room, she examines it again with fresh eyes. Strangely it still looks like a boy's room, and a quick examination of the wardrobe's contents doesn't do much to dissuade her from that notion. It's mostly all t-shirts and jeans. Doesn't she own anything even vaguely feminine in this timeline? Grumbling to herself at the unfairness of the Hellmouth picking on her yet again, Willow starts to pick out the least tomboyish outfit she can find, tilting the mirror slightly so she can see what the clothes look like on her as she dresses.

It's funny, she's never seriously thought about cutting her hair before. Taking care of it is sometimes a pain, but most of the time she likes her long hair. Well, okay, she's been afraid to change it in case it makes her look even more nerdy. It doesn't though. In fact the style is kind of nice. Makes her seem more mature somehow. As Willow examines her reflection closer, she also realises her physique had subtly changed. Before this morning she was awkwardly skinny, now though some muscle tone is evident. She's still petite, but there's a definite trimness to her that she's never had before. Something only a regular keep-fit routine could provide.

She finishes dressing herself and looks in the mirror again, appraising her appearance as she twists one way, then the other. For a walking fashion disaster, she doesn't actually look as bad as she thought she would. Now she's ready to find Giles and Buffy so they can work out how to fix this.

A troubling thought flashes to mind though. It's something that's been niggling away at her since she came up with this whole theory. Unless the man on the phone was mistaken, Giles isn't employed by the school. Meaning his past must have changed too. Of course if this is really time-travel, that only makes sense. But what if he doesn't remember the way things should be? What if she's the only one who does? The realisation suddenly hits her that like Marty's family, all of her friends might not be the same people anymore. They might not even know her. And that realisation terrifies her.

The sound of knocking makes her jump. After a moment's blankness, Willow flings the door open and races downstairs. It's Buffy... or Xander. One of them has realised what's happening and has come to find her. She was worrying over nothing. When she opens the back door though, it's neither of them. At first she doesn't recognise the girl standing on the step, but when she speaks, Willow pales.

"Hey Willow, are you ready to go?" The visitor greets her chirpily with a warm-hearted smile Willow has never seen on her before.

The visitor is Cordelia Chase.

Cordelia's expression falters as Willow just stands there like a statue. "Are you okay?" she asks with mild concern.

"I... um... n-not as such," Willow struggles out. Of all the things she's seen since waking up, this has to be the strangest.

Seeing how pale she looks, Cordelia drops her bookbag in the doorway and steps inside, closing the back-door behind her. "Sit down," she tells Willow, putting a comforting hand on her arm as she guides her towards the kitchen table. "My god, Willow, you look like you're ready to faint. What's wrong?"

Willow lets herself be led to the table and sits down before she can indeed pass out. Cordelia is being nice. This is unbelievable. Finding out that she's a tomboy is a big enough surprise, but what kind of change in the timestream could possibly turn Cordelia into the girl who is sitting to the side of her? She's wearing a beige coloured cardigan over a cream-white shirt and a matching skirt which falls past the knees. Cordelia loves to show off her legs and rarely if ever wears anything longer than a miniskirt. This is positively Victorian for her. Her hair is still long, but she sports a fringe which is unusual. The biggest change though is the wire-frame spectacles perched on her nose.

Willow considers her question, belatedly. "Everything!" she ventures. Cordelia though plainly doesn't understand, so she tries again. "Cordelia..." Then she pauses. Does Cordelia, this Cordelia know about the Hellmouth? Or will she just humour the crazy girl?

"You're worrying me, Will," she says. And she does look worried.

"Something... um... something weird happened this morning."

Cordelia immediately picks up on the use of the word 'weird' and her eyes widen. "Hellmouth weird?"

"You know?" Willow blurts out, somewhat relieved.

Cordelia though looks confused. "Know about what? You were just about to tell me," she reminds her.

"The Hellmouth. Vampires, demons, magic." Why would Cordelia say that word unless she knows what it means?

"Of course I do. But... Oh my, do you have some kind of amnesia?" Cordelia then chastises herself. "No, you wouldn't know me if you did," she murmurs.

"I don't," Willow tells her.

"But... you know my name," she says, now thoroughly confused.

"I know a Cordelia," Willow corrects. "And she looks like you... kinda. But you're not her." Willow takes a deep breath. "I think someone or something has changed the past."

Cordelia is silent.

"Pretty unbelievable I know, but this..." She gestures to herself, gaining momentum as she speaks. "This is not me. I have long hair and I'm mousy and-and shy. My mom picks out all my clothes for me. I love science and computers. Buffy and Xander are my friends and you're..." She trails off, not sure what to say that won't offend her. "Nothing's the same," she finishes. "You've got to believe me."

Willow's shoulders sag as she sees Cordelia's stunned expression. After that display she'll be lucky if Cordelia doesn't phone for the men in white coats.

"I believe you," Cordelia says quietly.

"You do?" Willow is inordinately pleased, then seconds later furrows her brow. "Why? I mean not that I don't want to be believed, but it did sound pretty crazy. If I wasn't going through it, I'd be pretty skeptical."

"Willow!"

"Sorry," Willow blushes. "I tend to babble when I'm nervous."

Cordelia smiles, but looks very uneasy. "Willow, I believe you because..." She hesitates. "Well, apart from the fact that you're not _that_ good an actor, I know you'd never use your mom for a joke. At least the Willow I know wouldn't."

"My mom?" Willow repeats, getting a vague sense of doom. Cordelia looks as if she's about to tell her something she really doesn't want to know.

"Willow," Cordelia starts. "Your mom, she's... she's dead."

Now it's Willow's turn to lapse into a stunned silence. "D-Dead?" she stutters.

"And that's not even the worst part."

"What?" Willow feels punch-drunk. This is just too much to cope with. "You've just told me she's... dead. What can possibly be worse?" As soon as the words have left her mouth though, she realises the one thing that can be. "Mom's a... she's..." She can't formulate the word.

Cordelia can tell that she's worked it out. "A vampire," she confirms with a look of sadness on her face.


	3. She Blinded Me With Science

**#3: She Blinded Me With Science**

Cordelia asks for no more details about her predicament, of which Willow is grateful as she doubts her ability to form coherent speech after the bombshell that's just been left in her lap. Her fears about this new timeline are getting worse. Her parents have been pretty distant as she's gotten older, but she's never wished either of them dead. Her mom... a vampire. God, no!

Cordelia makes herself busy in the kitchen and five minutes later places a bowl of fresh muesli with chopped fruit on the table. Willow looks up at her former tormenter with surprise. "I'm guessing you haven't had breakfast?" Cordelia asks. Willow shakes her head. It had understandably slipped her mind. Cordelia smiles, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've called We... a friend," she amends. "We'll get you back to where you need to be, Will. Count on that."

Willow feels a pang of guilt for ever having hated Cordelia. She's never even dreamed that the cheerleader is capable of being this nice. What could possibly have changed in her past to spark this transformation? She gratefully eats the healthy breakfast as Cordelia chats away about trivial things such as the hot summer they've been having, how she's doing at school, etc. She realises Cordelia is trying to lift her spirits by keeping things light, but it does work somewhat. Upon finding that Cordelia loves computers as much as she does, she's sucked into a discussion on the merits of Perl versus C++. They spend about quarter of an hour throwing technical terms back and forth before there's another knock at the door.

Cordelia shoots to her feet and answers it. Willow leans forward in her chair, trying to see who the visitor is. After a few seconds of whispered conversation, Cordelia steps back letting the newcomer in. He's a reasonably tall man probably in his mid to late 20s, wearing an off-white open-neck shirt under a fawn suede jacket and matching chinos.

"Willow, this is Wes," Cordelia says with a half smile.

"Wes Pryce, Watcher's Council of Great Britain." He looks carefully at Willow as he approaches the table. There isn't a sign of recognition in her eyes.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, heir to the Barony of High Newton, to give him his full name and title. He's practically royalty," Cordelia teases with a grin.

"Royalty?" Willow exclaims in wonder.

"Yes, Delia does enjoy indulging her little flights of fantasy. The title was bought by the family back in the sixties, I'm no closer to the throne than she is." Wes examines Willow's expression. "You really don't know me, do you?"

Willow shakes her head. "No sir."

"Sir!" Cordelia repeats, hiding a giggle behind her hand. Wes looks at her and sighs slightly, an action seemingly well-practiced. She clears her throat. "Excuse me." Picking up the breakfast bowl, she moves over to the sink.

"Delia gave me a rough overview of what's happened to you over the phone," Wes tells the girl opposite him as he sits down. "How about you tell me in more detail." Willow nods and starts from the previous night's patrol with Buffy up until Cordelia's arrival at her door, occasionally sidetracking to answer a question of Wes'. "Interesting," he says eventually after she's finished her recounting of events.

Willow is worried. "You look like you don't believe me."

"I believe her, Wes," Cordelia cuts in. "You've just got to look at her."

"I never said I don't believe and I trust your intuition, Delia."

"I can sense a very big 'but' coming though," Cordelia accuses.

Wes looks at her. "I just don't like the implication. Who's to say what's supposed to be and what isn't?" His eyes flick back to Willow. "What makes you think this is time-travel?"

"It... It just has to be," Willow answers bewilderedly. "What else could make all this happen?"

Wes sits back in the chair and thinks about it for a few moments. "As I understand it, if it _were_ time travel, your memories would've changed along with everyone else's. I don't see why you'd be the only one to remember things differently." He pauses for another couple of seconds. "We know there are other dimensions out there. Is it possible you're from one of them?"

"Another dimension?" Willow repeats warily.

There's a sharp intake of breath from Cordelia. Her expression is like someone has just flipped a light switch in her head. "Of course! I can't believe I didn't think of this before."

Both Willow and Wes turn their heads to look at her.

"The Everett Equation," she explains.

Both look blank.

Cordelia sits down. "Remember Schroedinger's Cat? The theory that given two possible outcomes, both can exist at the same time in different quantum states which are only resolved when the outcome is observed? Well Everett built on that and postulated that all possible actions can exist simultaneously. We haven't turned the mathematical proof into anything tangible yet, but the groundwork has been around since Everett published his findings in 1957."

Wes looks lost. But then he always looks lost when Cordelia starts talking physics. "Simpler," he asks.

"Alright! It's um... it's like peeling an onion" she ventures. "There are many layers all underneath each other, each a little different, but-"

Wes pulls a face. "Simpler still."

Cordelia sighs impatiently. "You watch Sliders, right?"

"Yes, but what's that got... Ah!"

"The penny drops?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Willow, being scientifically minded herself, had understood as soon as Cordelia mentioned Erwin Schroedinger. Not knowing how much or little Wesley knew though, she'd let Cordelia explain it, marvelling at the display of intelligence.

"So if I'm just in a different quantum reality, then that means my reality still exists. It's still out there... somewhere," Willow says, her excitement growing.

Cordelia smiles at her. "Precisely. Which would account for your memories."

"Before you get too excited," Wes interrupts, "wouldn't your theory suggest that there should be two Willows here?" He looks expectantly at her.

Cordelia frowns a little. "Well... maybe the lack of physical presence is the key. We still don't know what level thought or consciousness exists on. It's possible the mind is able to cross the Bridge where the body can't."

Wes is rapidly losing ground again. "The Bridge?"

"The Einstein-Rosen Bridge, a theoretical cosmic event linking two points in space-time," Willow chips in.

Wes slowly nods, now remembering a similar discussion on the TV show.

Cordelia grins. "Theoretical being the operative word. Science can't currently create the Bridge, so logic follows that Willow must have passed through it by magical means."

"Ah yes. And we do love logic," Wes humours her.

"Unfortunately that's where my... well... area of expertise ends," Cordelia says, blushing. She looks hopefully at Wes. "Do you know what could have caused this?"

"Transdimensional 'bridges' are a little out of my league, Delia."

Willow becomes worried again as she sees Cordelia's expression fall.

"I have contacts though," Wes adds. "Some of them eat this stuff for breakfast. I can call round, see what they say." He turns his head to Willow. "If you trust me."

Willow hesitates, but only for a moment. "You're a Watcher. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" She gives him a timid smile.

Cordelia clears her throat as Wes shifts in his seat.


	4. A Whole New World

**#4: A Whole New World**

"I have to be getting back," Wes eventually says after finishing the second of two calls from the house line. "Do you two need a lift?"

Cordelia glances over to him. "It's okay, Wes, we have a free first period."

"Alright, I'll see you at the library at lunchtime then." He pauses at the door. "I'll let the others know what's happening." He looks pointedly at Cordelia, who nods in understanding. Willow looks a little pensive as Wes leaves, but seems more reassured now that a Watcher is 'on the case' as it were.

"When we get to school, I'd like you to take a look around," Cordelia says. "Tell me who you recognise and who you don't and I can fill in the blanks for you." She pauses for a moment, hoping the next thing she says won't upset Willow again. "I need to tell you though, the names you mentioned - Buffy, Xander and Giles? I didn't recognise them."

Willow looks at her wide-eyed. "None of them?"

Cordelia shakes her head slightly. "It doesn't mean to say that they're not here of course. But... if they are, either I know them by different names or our paths have just never crossed."

"But Buffy's the Slayer. If she's not here, then..." Willow trails off as she follows the thought to its logical conclusion. "Someone else is the Slayer here?"

Cordelia nods in the affirmative. "You'll meet her at lunchtime along with the rest of the gang. We're all here for you, Willow, count on that. Any way we can help, we will." She places a sympathetic hand on her arm.

Willow's mind is spinning. Another Watcher, another Slayer. Is anything the same here? She tells herself that her friends aren't really gone, that there must be a way back to them. Unfortunately she realises the fallacy of that logic and curses her intelligence. _Don't think about it. Just don't think about it. Denial thy name is Willow._

"Let's take a slow walk," Cordelia suggests, trying to take Willow's mind off things. "You can tell me what's different about your Sunnydale. I'd love to hear about a parallel world."

"Okay," Willow replies, nodding nervously.

They're about to leave the house when Cordelia notices something, or rather more accurately something missing. "Wait, you need your bear pin."

"Bear pin?" Willow asks, naturally not knowing what she's referring to.

Cordelia winces. Of course, she wouldn't know where she put it. "Okay, here," she says, her fingers moving the fold of her cardigan to one side as she unfastens something from it, "take mine."

Willow looks at the small metal badge she's been handed. It's in the shape of a grizzly bear, more or less identical to that on the state flag. She shrugs as she pins it to the sweatshirt she's wearing. Maybe kids are more patriotic here? "Do I look okay for school?" she asks hesitantly. "I wasn't sure what to wear. "

Cordelia smiles at her. "You look fine. And don't worry, we'll sort this all out for you. Now let's hear about this world of yours."

Taking the 'scenic route' to school, Cordelia though ends up answering more questions than she asks. On the surface it seems business as usual here, but scratch that surface and there's some rather startling changes from Willow's perspective. Many of the ubiquitous store chains are either gone or were never installed in the first place. "Part of a statewide antitrust clampdown a few years ago," Cordelia explains. And it had worked rather more than anticipated outside of the metropolises. No Starbucks, no golden arches, just a variety of reasonably priced local independents. Sunnydale is officially Corporate America's nightmare.

"We have History together second period," Cordelia tells her as they walk into school with fifteen minutes to spare. "Which era are you covering at the moment?"

"The Civil War. Again." Willow likes history as a whole, but wars have never been her favourite topics.

"That era does get beaten to death a bit, doesn't it," Cordelia echoes. "Well hopefully you shouldn't have a problem with Mr McDonnell's syllabus. He specialises in Colonial America and the early Republic. Not so much the Revolution, but the decades either side. It's quite interesting. Well, I find it interesting anyway," she adds a touch depreciatively.

"Sounds good," Willow replies genuinely. A little normality in the form of class might even help clear her thoughts. As they casually walk down the school corridors, she scans the various cliques and crowds as Cordelia had suggested earlier. Some students seem familiar, but many she doesn't recognise at all. And while the building itself is more or less the same as Willow is used to, the social politics are almost as wildly off-kilter as Cordelia. After receiving a few greetings herself, she starts to wonder if she's somehow managed to bypass the social death list here completely.

"Who's that?" Willow asks for what feels like the hundredth time. The preppy blonde surrounded by adoring fashionista clones reminds her of someone, but she can't think whom.

"Gwen Ditchik," Cordelia replies, turning away the moment she sees her. "She thinks she's so superior to the rest of us just because her father's on the town council. Gets everything handed to her on a plate and makes sure the rest of the world knows it. Even half the teachers suck up to her. If she thinks she can score points off you, she won't hesitate." Cordelia shakes her head as they quickly pass by unnoticed. "You don't want to know her."

"I didn't think I did," Willow agrees, making the connection. Back home, Gwen is just another member of Queen C's cheerleading clique. Here however, it seems fate has given her a promotion. One of Willow's tormenters though is conspicuous by her absence. "What happened to Harmony?" she asks, turning back to her new friend. "I don't see her here."

"Harmony..." Cordelia mulls.

"Harmony Kendall, she has a similar kind of role in my Sunnydale." Although Willow doesn't tell Cordelia that her double fulfils that role first and foremost.

Cordelia shrugs. "The name isn't familiar. If she's anything like Gwen, I thank heaven for small mercies. One of them is bad enough."

Willow can only nod. No Harmony can only be a good thing. They go on in a similar vein until the bell rings and the students who were on a 'free' start to mill towards their respective classes, while the others make a hasty exit. History actually goes well for Willow. She enjoys the topic and seems to surprise Mr McDonnell by answering a few of the spot questions, something she queries Cordelia about when the class is over.

Cordelia struggles and fails to stop chuckling. "Ah, well it's not usually a subject you excel in. You've probably got him wondering now whether he's drank too much port and imagined the whole thing. But well done, Willow. A most sterling performance."

Willow looks perturbed. "Perhaps you should tell me what my strengths and weaknesses are here, so I don't draw attention to myself."

Cordelia's amusement falls. "That's a point! If you're too... out of character, some people might start asking why." She comes to a decision. "Okay, I'll come over tonight with some snacks and we'll do some revision in Willow 101."

Willow smiles at her. "Thank you!"

Cordelia blinks. "For what?"

"For being so nice," she explains. "It's... It's not something I've come to expect back in my Sunnydale."

Cordelia looks thoughtful for a moment as she opens her locker door and retrieves a flip notebook. "I like to believe in karma, the natural balance. Good things happen to good people... generally." Although she can think of some pretty big exceptions. "If you can't be nice? Really, what's the point?" She sighs. "I just wish more people thought that."

Willow considers her words. "That's a pretty good credo."

Cordelia notices the crowds thinning out as people make their way to third period. "Unfortunately 'tis here we must part." She starts to scribble on the top page of the notebook with a biro, then rips it out and hands it to Willow. "These are your classes with room numbers up to lunchtime. All your books should be in here. Does your Watcher use the library as base of operations?"

"Yes, it gave the best cover for all the demonology and prophecy related volumes Giles brought with him."

Cordelia seems to find that funny but doesn't comment on it. "Okay, I'll see you there at quarter to twelve then?"

Willow nods. "See you there." She turns to her locker and tries to open it with her usual number, but it remains locked. "Wait!" she calls to Cordelia's rapidly disappearing form. To her relief, she turns. "What's my combination?"

Cordelia glances around herself. "When did Einstein break the time barrier?" Then she disappears into a classroom.

Willow stares after her.

_What?_


	5. Hope You Guess My Name

**#5: Pleased to Meet You, Hope You Guess My Name**

Cordelia stands nervously by the library doors. What if Willow was late and had been kept back? Einstein! That was so stupid, she'd think the physicist for sure. Thankfully at five minutes to twelve she sees the familiar redhead coming down the corridor. "I'm so sorry, Willow," she blurts out as she reaches her. "I didn't want everyone to hear your combination and Einstein was all I could think of. Old Knox didn't come down too hard on you did he?"

"No no, it's okay Cordelia, I'm not in any trouble. I just wanted to ask the last teacher something."

"Oh thank god!" she exclaims, breathing out. "I was kicking myself the minute I went into class."

"Ten, twenty-six, eighty-five. I made it just in time," Willow tells her. "I admit you had me wondering for a moment, but when I realised the only Einstein I knew that had travelled in time was a dog, the answer came to me."

"I was worried you'd never seen the movie, or that it doesn't exist on your world."

Willow smiles. "No, it exists. It's one of my favourites actually."

"Oh mine too. Well all four of them really."

Willow's eyes widen. "They made a Part Four here?"

"For the tenth anniversary," Cordelia replies in surprise. "You only have the three?"

"I first saw the last one when I was nine." Willow tells her. "I got a little too upset though when the train smashed the DeLorean and I missed the rest of the end. When I saw the time train though, I spent the next six months wanting to be a train driver."

"Before this conversation moves onto an altogether disturbing analysis of the merits of Michael J Fox with or without his shirt on, would you girls like to come inside?" Both heads turn to see Wes standing in the open doorway, his arms folded. They hadn't even heard the door open.

"Like we would lower ourselves to so shallow a topic," Cordelia sniffs.

"Feel free to lower yourself anytime you want. I could do with some excitement," a female voice calls from inside. It sounds British to Willow's ear. A little like Wes' accent, but more... earthy.

Wes ignores the voice and looks to Cordelia. "Have you told her?"

"I know Buffy and Xander aren't in there," Willow states, attempting confidence. "But that's okay. As long as you get me back to them."

"We'll do our very best, Willow, that I can promise you," Wes vows. "After what you told me this morning, I was concerned that our reality might come as something of a shock. I'm pleased to see you're handling the situation."

Willow shrugs. "Life on the Hellmouth. I... I guess you get desensitised to the weirdness after a while." She swallows hard.

Cordelia puts an arm around her and guides her inside. "Come on, Will. Let's meet everyone." Wes stands aside as the two girls walk into the library.

Upon seeing them, a boy gets up from his chair at the left of the table and performs an elaborate bow. He has short dark hair and wears a grey sports sweater with stonewash jeans and trainers. "Greetings and salutations to the fair maiden, Willow."

"Wisearse!" The remark comes from the same girl who made the earlier disembodied comment. She's leaning back in her chair, balancing it on the two back legs with her feet resting on the tabletop. An open black waistcoat partly covers a loose-fitting white blouse with the arms rolled up to the elbows. A thin belt seems thrown haphazardly around her waist. It certainly isn't needed to hold up her black suede drainpipes, which in Willow's own dimension were probably stylish at some point in time, that time now long gone. Her shoulder-length hair has been teased into waves and a pair of black Wayfarers hide her eyes.

"It's called being polite," the boy answers back. He moves over to Willow and extends his hand. "Jonathan-"

"Levinson," Willow finishes, accepting the handshake. She's surprised at what he's wearing. It looks casual, but not nerdy.

"Ahh, you already know me then," Jonathan says, quirking an eyebrow. "What am I like on your Earth?"

"Well," Willow starts, then she furrows her brow. How do you describe Jonathan?

"That good huh?" he says deadpan. "Well, call me Johnny. Pretty much everyone does, friend or foe. Though I much prefer friends."

Willow smiles shyly. "Pleased to meet you, Johnny." He seems pleasant. Far less nervous than the Jonathan she knows. She and Xander had tried making friends with him, but for some reason it never happened.

"And this uncouth urchin..." Johnny crosses the floor to behind the girl and motions to pull her chair back.

"Touch it and die!"

"Is Angel," Johnny finishes, placing his hands on her shoulders with a smile. "Though how she got that little moniker is a mystery worthy of Robert Ripley."

_Angel?_ Willow wonders.

Angel looks up at him and smirks. "Love you too, babe!" Springing forward, she leaps to her feet, the chair rocking back and forth with a brief clatter as all four legs hit the floor.

Willow furrows her brow again. Why does she look familiar? Apart from the name, which admittedly is an uncanny coincidence, she...

The girl flips her sunglasses up as she approaches her. "Angela Drew. But no-one's called me Angela since..." She trails off as she sees Willow's shocked expression. "You alright?"

Now that she can see the face properly and those piercing eyes, there's no mistaking her. She murmurs the name fearfully as she quickly steps backwards.

"Drusilla!"


	6. Insanity Welcomes Careful Drivers

**#6: Insanity Welcomes Careful Drivers**

Willow continues backing away from the girl, staring at her in fear and disbelief. Buffy had shown her the daguerreotype she'd found just last week. How could they let Angel's childe in here, an insane master vampire who could murder them all in seconds?

Cordelia is by her side in a second. "Willow, what's wrong?" She gets no answer though.

"Will?" Angel says, clearly not expecting the reaction she got. She moves forward, but Wes holds out a hand to stop her from coming any closer to the clearly terrified girl. He's not sure what provoked this, but Delia has the best chance of breaking through whatever it is.

Cordelia lightly holds her arms. "Willow, what is it? Tell me what's wrong," she says evenly and gently, trying to calm her. "Nothing's going to hurt you, I promise. I'm right here."

Willow's eyes flick briefly to hers, but then shoot back to the vampire who... seems bewildered of all things. "It's... She's a..." This isn't making sense. Her stare turns from fearful to confused as some facts penetrate the shock, her analytical mind starting to reassert control over herself. She glances at the library windows. Warm sunlight is streaming through them, it looks a nice day out there. The girl everyone called Angel is standing partway in the shade, but the light is shining on her face and the front of her body. Yet she isn't screaming and disintegrating into a burning pile of ashes.

"Willow?" Cordelia repeats with concern.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm okay... I think!" She takes a step forward towards Angel, then a second, noting to herself the slight in and out movement of the girl's breathing. This is amazing. "You're human?" she asks quietly.

Angel looks non-plussed. "Course I am, what else..." Then the colour drains from her face as she realises just what Willow thought she was. "Crap!"

Wes had been watching closely. He'd seen her glance at the windows, then at Angel's torso. It instantly made her reaction to his Slayer completely understandable. He wishes he'd known about this beforehand, he and Delia could have prepared her. Though in all fairness it wasn't something he reasonably could have predicted. "Angel is a vampire on Willow's world," he says out loud in case his other charges haven't quite worked it out yet.

Johnny moves over to Angel and places a hand on her shoulder. "Makes sense doesn't it," she says, crossing her arms. Her expression is stoic, but her voice betrays her feelings on the matter. "I'm not the Slayer there. I was just some poor sod who couldn't get out of the road quick enough and got snacked on like a tube of Smarties."

"You're the Slayer?" Willow gapes for a moment before realising and shutting her mouth. Her mind in spinning. This is beyond amazing, this is impossible.

Cordelia guides her over to the left of the table and pulls out a chair. "You'd better sit down, Will, before you fall down."

"Perhaps we all should," Wes suggests as Willow gratefully takes the seat. Angel just nods at Johnny and they return to their former positions at the table. Cordelia meanwhile pulls a chair close to Willow's, seemingly not wanting to stray too far from her. It's interesting to see Cordelia stepping into the protective role, quite a reversal from their usual behaviour. Wes takes his place next to his Slayer. "Well, obviously Angel's presence was a shock," he starts in apology. "I didn't think to ask if any of our group are dead or indeed undead on your world, Willow. For that I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I didn't think of it either," Willow replies, a little subdued. "I don't know what you're supposed to consider in a situation like this. It's not like there's a manual... is there?"

Wes smiles faintly. "Not for this."

Willow looks across at Angel. She's sure she's the girl in the photo, the similarity is too striking. But she isn't a vampire, so how has she survived the last century and a half? Magic like Amy's mom? The way she talks though, the way everyone acts around her, it's like she's just a regular girl. And she's the Slayer? Giles was pretty clear that Slayers are always teenage girls. "Angel, can I ask how old you are?"

"Seventeen just gone. Why?"

Wes can see the redhead trying to collate her thoughts. "Why don't you start at the beginning, Willow? There's obviously something bothering you. If we can help you work it out, we will."

She nods and composes herself. "Well, Buffy found a loose photo in one of Giles' books last week. She was interested in it because she saw the girl with Angel." She glances at the Slayer. "I mean my Angel. Not that he's _my_ Angel. He's Buffy's Angel really. I mean in the romantic sense, but in the helping people sense then I guess he's everyone's Angel... if that makes any sense," Willow babbles.

"From the gender pronoun, I assume we're not talking about the same person," Johnny says, having no trouble unravelling Willow's speedy delivery. He glances at Angel and gives her a half-smile. "Unless you want to tell us something?"

Angel rolls her eyes, but appreciates the attempt to cheer her up. Finding out her double is a vampire has rattled her more than she cares to think about.

"It's interesting that you know someone entirely different with the same name. Maybe that's important," Cordelia wonders. "Who is Angel on your world? Buffy's boyfriend?"

Willow smiles despite her mood. "He is. They've been dancing around each other for a while, but they're sweeties now. He's so good for Buffy, she doesn't have to pretend to be anyone else around him. And they can fight together and everything."

"Why's he called Angel?" Johnny chips in. "No offence, but it doesn't seem the kind of name a guy would have. Unless it's short for Angelo or something. Is he Italian?"

"Angel is also a Hispanic name," Wes adds.

"Actually he used to be called Angelus, but I think that name carries too many bad memories now," Willow tells them.

Wes chills. The feeling is matched around the table as the teenagers suddenly tense at the name. This has to be just a coincidence. "Is this Angel another student?" he queries, keeping his voice calm.

"No, he's a vampire, but-"

"ANGELUS?" Angel snaps, almost choking on the confirmation. "You're hanging around with one third of the Scourge of Europe? The guy that makes Hitler look like Gandhi?"

"The Scourge of Europe?" Willow is startled by everyone's reaction. Cordelia looks sickly while Johnny has a hard but inscrutable expression on his face.

"The name given to a trio of particularly vicious vampires who travelled throughout Europe in the nineteenth century, leaving a bloody trail of slaughter and devastation in their wake," Wes recites uneasily. With every new thing he learns about this Willow's world, the worse he feels.

"Wes gave me the gen on the Top Ten Most Wanted when I got this gig and Angelus is numero uno on that list for pure brutality alone. Calling him a sick, sadistic monster is an understatement." Fire is burning in Angel's eyes as she offers her own opinion. "Believe me, I speak from experience."

_Experience?_ "But... he's good now," Willow asserts nervously. "He saves people. A gypsy clan cursed him when he turned one of their favourite daughters. They gave him his soul back and he's trying to atone for what he did. He helps us."

"A good vampire?" Cordelia sounds amazed at the concept. "Is that even possible?" She quickly turns her head to Willow. "Not that I'm doubting you, I'm not, but..."

Wes looks uncomfortable. "I've heard rumours that some of the older Romany clans held such skills once upon a time. But they were said to be wielded by the High Elders and not all of them passed on their knowledge before they died. If anyone has the ability to perform such a feat now, they're keeping it very secret. How long has the Angelus of your world been under this curse?"

"I'm not sure of the exact date. About a century."

An entire century without Angelus' wholesale murder? Wes considers the information. "And our Angel's double was seen with him?" he asks, moving the discussion back on track.

Willow swallows and nods again. "We didn't know who she was at the time. Giles was researching Spike though, that's when Buffy found the photo. She was supposed to have been killed in Prague, but obviously that information was wrong. Buffy asked Angel about her." She shifts in her seat. "He said he'd... tortured her and killed everyone she knew."

Angel leaps to her feet, not at all happy with what she's hearing. "You said he'd been cursed a century ago. So what's your _good vampire_ doing torturing and killing?"

"Th-That leads to what I don't understand," Willow tells her honestly, her nerves starting to get the better of her. "The photo was old, I-I mean black and white old. A daguerreotype from the late 1850s Giles said. Angelus didn't just torture her, he... made her insane. Then she sheltered in a convent, but he came back and killed everyone, then sired her before she could take holy orders."

"The 1850s? Could this be time travel after all?" Cordelia asks unsurely.

"I don't know." Willow looks equally unsure of herself as she faces her new friend. She takes a deep breath. "If we follow Occam's Razor, then I have to believe Angel is who she appears to be, anything else just adds unnecessary variables. But... she _is_ the girl in the photo, I'm sure of it."

Angel raises a hand to her head and briefly massages her temples between middle finger and thumb. "Willow, with all the greatest respect and everything... what the HELL sodding Crack Nightmare World do you come from? Are you seriously trying to tell me that I pulled a Doc Brown and somehow got myself stuck in the 1800s where the bastard version of your Angelus turned me into a demon nun in desperate need of ECT? It sounds like the plot of a bad Charles Band movie."

"No such thing," Johnny interludes, trying his best to make light of a bad situation. This whole conversation's taken a left turn into insanity anyway, he might as well throw his two cents in.

Angel holds four fingers up to him. "Dollman vs Demonic Toys," she says, lowering a finger with every word.

Johnny stays silent. She's got him there.

Willow looks at them both oddly. "But... how else can Drusilla be a hundred and forty years older than you are?" she asks, a little frustrated. "I'm open to ideas."

Suspicion starts to dawn on Angel's face as she's reminded of the name Willow had initially called her. She'd wondered how she knew about it. "My double's name is Drusilla?"

Johnny eyes the Slayer. "You know something?"

"Not sure. Might do," she answers carefully. She makes an effort to calm herself down, this isn't happening to _her_ after all. Angel retakes her seat, thinking madly, then looks up to Willow. "How alike are we? This Drusilla and me?"

"Identical," Willow tells her.

"Completely identical? I don't think I'd be posing for a photo back in Victorian times wearing this."

"Well you're dressed appropriate to the period and have a different hairstyle, but facially you're the same."

Various dates run through Angel's mind as she tries to remember what her mum has told her. "And are you sure Drusilla is my age, not... older?"

Willow opens her mouth, then closes it again as she realises she's not certain. She closes her eyes, bringing the image to the forefront of her mind. She looked young, but did that mean she was young? Pinpointing the subject's age can be a problem with early photography, she's read that before. She opens her eyes again and tries comparing her mental image with her visual one. "I... I guess it's possible," she admits.

"What's your theory, Angel?" Wes asks her. All eyes move to the Slayer.

"Drusilla's a family name on my mum's side," she starts to explain. "She says it's been handed down from mother to daughter for generations now, usually to the first born. Nana Dru wanted me to have it, just like Aunt Cilla got it from her. Fortunately my parents realised that calling me Dru Drew would amount to child abuse once I started school, so I got Angela instead. Point is there's been Drusillas in my family since the year dot, loads of them. If she looks like me, could it be an ancestor or something?" She turns her head to her Watcher. "Wes?"

"You could be right," he muses. "Even in the last century Drusilla wasn't a common name. I can check the statistics, but I'm willing to bet there weren't a thousand Drusillas in the whole country at that time. And physical features can certainly be reinherited after a number of generations. There's a photo somewhere back home of my great grandfather Pryce, my Uncle George is a dead ringer for him at the same age."

"So I'm _not_ a vampire there then?" Angel breathes out and smiles. "Halle-bloody-lujah!"

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," Wes tells her. "If one of your ancestors _was_ killed and sired, it may be that you don't exist at all in Willow's world."

"Of course!" Cordelia pipes up, warming to the theory. "If it happened before Drusilla married, then her future husband could have went on to marry someone else or not at all. If he had any children, they'd be different people from those Drusilla gave birth to. Different people who lived different lives all the way up the line. Your personal ancestry can rest on a very fragile chain of circumstances. One broken link affects every link that comes after it."

Angel sighs. "Okay, back to feeling crap again. Thanks Delia."

Cordelia adopts a suitably contrite face.

Willow's eyes widen as she takes in the implications. "She lived here? Angel didn't kill her?"

Wes nods. "It seems a simpler explanation than assuming time-travel. Angelus possibly didn't even meet her. Perhaps he chose to hunt elsewhere that night, walked down a different road, left five minutes later, five minutes earlier. Perhaps Drusilla chose not to go out that night. The possibilities are numerous."

Willow looks back to this Angel. "And you're her... great-great-granddaughter or something?"

"Mum's the family history nut, she'd know for sure if any of them fit the bill," Angel answers. Then her mood darkens again. "But if Angelus did kill one of my ancestors on your world, that's one more thing I'm gonna nail him to the bloody cross for."

Willow looks lost for a moment, then slowly realises with horror. "Angel is still Angelus here?"

Wes is all business now. "Angelus and Penn arrived here a little over a month ago. The first we knew of their presence was on the Night of Saint Vigeous. As far as we knew none of the preparations were being observed, the local vampire population seemed to be as active as they ever are. We hoped Saint Vigeous would pass by without incident."

"It did on my world. Spike attacked here on parent-teacher night instead. Buffy and Angel held him and the other vampires off."

"Consider yourself lucky this Spike jumped the gun then," Wes says simply.

Willow looks at everyone, her heart fluttering. "What happened?"

Johnny shares brief eye contact with Angel. "Penn let us trail him to the derelict mansion on Crawford Street. We had no intel that any of the locals were using it. It was an ambush. We nearly didn't get Angel out of there in time."

"We?" Cordelia says quietly. "Funny we. You're the one that carried her back to the car, you're the one that drove her-"

Johnny rises from his seat, stopping Cordelia in her tracks. "It's getting on. Does anyone want anything from the cafeteria?"

"I'll come along. There are some errands I need to run anyway," Wes tells him, pulling out his chair and joining him.

"Sandwich and a Sprite," Angel requests with a smile.

"Packed lunch," Cordelia says finally, retrieving a tupperware container from her bag. "Do you want to share, Will?"

She smiles at her, feeling some relief from the prior tension. "Okay, thank you."

Johnny nods once, turns and leaves the library with Wes. As Cordelia opens the lunchbox, Willow watches Angel's eyes following Johnny until the double-doors swing shut. Cordelia notices and catches Willow's attention, putting a finger to her lips.

After a moment, Angel turns her attention back to them. "Your world sounds a pretty insane place, Will. Granny Dru the Mad Hatter, the Slayer dating a vampire..." She trails off, not wanting to deal with the concept of an Angelus that saves people rather than brutalising them. "Hopefully you'll find here more normal."

"I'm so sorry!" Willow tells her timidly.

"For what?"

"For freaking when I saw you. For being so adamant that you had to be a vampire. I should have known there'd be a more logical explanation, I've watched Sliders with Xander enough times."

"That's not your fault," Cordelia tells her earnestly. "This whole situation is weird. I think anyone would freak in they were put in your place. Apple or banana?"

"Oh, apple thank you." She takes the offered piece of fruit.

Angel looks from one to the other and shakes her head slightly, suddenly amused. They're like peas in a pod. Will's double is essentially Delia's kindred spirit. "She's right, forget about it. To paraphrase a certain well-known geekfest: We're vampire slayers, weird is part of the job."


	7. Nature vs Nurture

**#7: Nature vs Nurture**

The rest of the school day had gone fairly innocuously. Willow had made an effort not to draw attention to herself in class by putting her hand up for spot questions. It seemed to work. She'd received no more curious glances at any rate. One or two of the teachers were different, but the syllabus itself more or less the same. As the last bell rings, she makes her way to meet Cordelia at the main doors when she hears someone call her name.

"Hey Willster, hang about!"

She turns her head to see a boy she's never seen before hurry to catch her up. He has blonde hair in a mullet style of all things and looks tall, maybe even taller than Larry, but is thin and wiry rather than built solidly like the football player. A thin bright-red leather jacket hangs loosely over a light grey t-shirt emblazoned with a crazy and colourful logo that instantly looks familiar. _Wyld Stallyns?_ She giggles internally, remembering the goofy movie she and Xander had seen when they were younger.

"Didn't see you at lunchbreak," he says. "The guys were a bit disappointed."

_The guys?_ "Sorry! Um... something came up," Willow struggles, not sure what excuse to make.

"Hey that's cool, I can deal" he responds amiably. "Just don't be surprised to hear all kinds of strangeness when you check in. Y'know what happens when you're not there to ground us," he chuckles.

"Strangeness, check!" Willow nods, not having a clue what he's talking about, but playing along as best she can. _Someone save me!_

Her silent prayer is answered as Cordelia appears. "Hi Rick," she greets him.

"Hey PYT," he nods with a smile. "What's kickin'?"

She flushes involuntarily. "Ah... well, same old," she replies, looking at her shoes. Her eyes flick up to the redhead. "Will, we'd better get going if you still want to study for that test?"

Willow nods a little too enthusiastically. "Yes, test! Need to study!" She looks at the boy. "Sorry, um... I really need this grade."

"Woah, must be major if it's got _you_ jumpin'. Okay, go do your thing. Can we grab you tomorrow tho'?"

"She'll be there," Cordelia confirms, surreptitiously nudging her.

"Absolutely. Wouldn't miss it."

Rick grins. "Okay, catch you girls later," he says, pointing at them both before flicking his thumb behind himself. "In the meantime, I gotta split!" He swirls round on his heel and moves off.

Willow stares after him. "Who...?"

"Rick Solo." She stifles a smile. "His dad changed his name when Star Wars came out. Rick's a nice guy, he's just... not quite all there. None of the family are really. They're great people though, very welcoming and never have a bad word to say."

"I guess there are characters in every school," Willow muses. "How do I know him? I mean how does my double know him?"

"She helped Rick's band soundcheck a few times before gigs. Now they tend to run their new stuff past her before unleashing it on the general public."

"Soundcheck?" Willow repeats, amazed. "Wow! She must be really into music. I mean I like music, but I just listen to it, I've never got into the technical side of it." She gets another thought as they start walking to the exit themselves. "By the way. PYT?"

Cordelia turns red again. "Um, it's the... it's an old Michael Jackson song."

"What does it mean?"

"Well... it um... it stands for... Pretty Young Thing. He always calls me it, I don't know why." She's rushing through her words by the end.

Willow smiles at her as they emerge into the bright sunshine. "Maybe it's because he thinks you're pretty." Cordelia just shakes her head quickly, making Willow think about the Cordelia she knows back home. The preening princess with an acid tongue, so confident in herself and her appearance, arrogant even. She and her double couldn't be more different if they tried.

* * *

Willow walks around the ground floor of her home here. She'd given its contents a cursory examination this morning, but only now is she able to appreciate the completely new ambience it seems to have. The furniture looks older, some pieces - including the couch - she remembers from several years ago. Mom has always replaced anything that looks less than new. The rooms are a little untidy in places, but it serves merely to make the house look lived-in.

She picks up a photo she glanced at earlier and looks at it properly. It shows a group of five people. Two of the adults are unfamiliar, but the other is her father. Even he looks different with the neatly trimmed beard and earth-coloured pullover. His hands are on her shoulders and although his eyes carry a certain melancholy, he's smiling widely. Cordelia is standing next to her with a shy smile, holding her hand. They both look about ten or eleven.

"The town fair," Cordelia says, looking over her shoulder. "Must be... six years ago now."

"Who are the other two?" Willow asks absently as she thinks about the apparent closeness of everyone pictured.

Cordelia looks at her, puzzled as she sees that she really doesn't recognise them. "My parents."

Willow's head whips around in surprise. "But... I've seen your parents. They don't look like this."

Cordelia visibly tenses. "What are their names?"

Willow searches her memory for a moment. "Thomas and Cynthia."

She blinks, then turns away from Willow, whispering to herself as she moves across the room and sits on the edge of the couch.

Willow places the photo back down and joins her. "What is it?" she asks tentatively.

Cordelia says nothing at first, then gives a light shrug. "Thomas and Cynthia are my birth parents. I barely remember them though."

_Birth parents?_ "You're adopted?" At Cordelia's nod, she furrows her brow. "How do you have the same surname?"

She sighs. "Genetically speaking, my dad is what you've always called him. Uncle Jack. Thomas is his brother."

Partial understanding dawns, but Willow is still curious. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"What happened was that Tom and Cyn weren't fit to be parents," she answers, not as calmly as before. "A crook and a junkie. Can you imagine the childhood I would've had?" She looks to her friend and in that split-second realises that she may actually know.

"A crook and a junkie?" Willow repeats, surprised. "Your family's always seemed so respectable back home."

"Then they're vastly different on your world, Will. Unless by respectable you mean wealthy, in which case I can think of far better qualities to command respect."

"Well" Willow hedges, "the Chase family and money sort of go hand-in-hand."

"Not dad," Cordelia tells her firmly. "He was the black sheep of the family, or white sheep I guess you could say. He didn't get on with his parents at all. He left home the day he turned eighteen and my grandparents weren't sorry to see him go. Tom was always their golden boy, the one that was going to follow the family tradition. When they moved to Beverly Hills, they signed the house over to him. But being a high-earner and owning a palatial home wasn't enough for Tom. He didn't care what he did or who he stepped on, as long as the money kept rolling in. Corporate fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion. They threw the book at him. I was four when he was sent down."

Willow is open-mouthed at both the revelation and Cordelia's demeanor. She's speaking about Thomas Chase with such growing distaste, it's almost as if she's listening to Queen C again. The cheerleader is buried in there after all, but this Cordelia has redirected her vehemence. "And your mom?"

"Cyn," Cordelia stresses, "was doped up to the eyeballs. Dad said he didn't trust her with me, that the maid was essentially looking after me. He got social services involved and they agreed. Complete Benzodiazepine dependence they said."

"Valium?" Willow readily identifies the most common drug of that type.

Cordelia nods. "That was just the main one of course. Cyn was a walking pill factory. She's been in and out of rehab for years with different addictions. Always prescription drugs, but they're bad enough. There was no way dad was going to leave me with her." She allows herself a small smile. "He's always told me that if the state hadn't got involved, mom and him would've kidnapped me and went on the run. He figured they'd get a week's head start before anyone would've noticed."

Willow is appalled. Not though at the prospect of Cordelia being kidnapped, but at the idea that she was so neglected it could have really taken that long to be reported. She was smiling, but there was an edge behind the grim humour. "And they got custody?"

Cordelia nods. "They were barely out of college at the time, but they were already married and dad had a part-time job at Spin City. The family court wasn't too sure by all accounts, but the case worker argued it was best if I stayed within the family. A year later I was formally adopted. Tom and Cyn have never visited, they've never sent a birthday card, they rarely even ask after me. As far as I'm concerned they're just DNA donors. I wish they weren't even that."

Willow can only nod mutely.

"Sorry about that," Cordelia apologises, returning to her meek demeanor as she sees her expression. "This is why I don't talk about them much."

"It's okay. I don't blame you for hating them."

"I'm past hating them. I guess... I guess I just can't believe that two people can care so little for their own flesh and blood. I may not be rich, but at least I know what's really important in life. If I'd grown up in that environment..." She seems distant, then turns her head and looks seriously at her friend. "Willow, I've noticed you haven't mentioned who I am on your world. You knew me when you answered the door, so I know I exist there. What kind of person am I?"

Willow doesn't want to tell her this. Even in the short time she's known this Cordelia, she feels like they could become real friends. Friends on their own merits, not because of who she represents. Telling her could wreck that possibility. "Cordelia, I-"

"Delia!" she prompts. At Willow's questioning glance, she elaborates. "All of my friends call me Delia."

Willow _had_ noticed the use of the diminutive in earlier conversation, something that the Cordelia of her home Earth has never been called to her knowledge. She hadn't dared presume to use it herself though. To be given that permission already? Willow is touched.

"It's okay, Willow. What's the worst I can be? A spoiled princess who's waited on hand and foot and doesn't know the price of a pint of milk?" she jokes. In a world where Tom isn't in prison and Cyn isn't off her face? She'll have grown up in money, she has to be an airhead who spends her time painting her nails and tittering at a big dumb jock's feeble misogynist humour. Imagine that.

Willow swallows. Her new friend deserves the truth, but it's going to hurt. She can imagine how she'd feel if she'd been told her double was the resident Bitch Monster from Hell. As much as that concept beggars belief, it's no stranger than the girl sitting next to her. "On my world," she starts, "Gwen doesn't rule the school. She's in the clique, but she's just a hanger-on at best. She doesn't do anything without Queen C's permission."

"Queen C?" Delia gets a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Your double," she tells her, wincing.

Every memory of every horrible thing Gwen and her nest of vipers have done to her races through Delia's mind at breakneck speed. That she could be responible for anything like that? That she could lead such a group? Angel's right, what kind of crack nightmare is Willow's world? As she stares in disbelief though, she sees something else in Willow's face. A look she recognises as if it's her own. "She... she does to you what Gwen does to me?"

The emotional pain is all too evident. Willow can't hide it well enough with her feelings running this close to the surface. "I don't know if things are exactly the same. But from what you said in school..."

Delia's breathing becomes short and sharp as her imagination replaces the images with a distorted caricature of herself wearing Gwen's clothes and a distressed Willow on the sharp end of her jabs, verbal and otherwise. She begins to feel lightheaded. "No!" she whispers. "God, no!" She jumps to her feet and races to the stairs as she feels the bile rise.

Alarmed, Willow follows her upstairs and across the landing until the bathroom door shuts in her face and she hears the sound of retching. Hesitantly, Willow knocks on the door. "Delia? Delia, I'm sorry, please talk to me." The sound of coughing punctures her pleas. Eventually though, after about a minute, the door opens. Her face is ashen and she's shaking like a leaf.

"I'm sorry," Delia struggles. "I know it's silly to be this upset given we... fight vampires and everything. But Gwen has... She's done her best to make my life a misery since elementary school. I don't know what I ever did to her, but she... she just takes the fact that I exist as an insult. I try to stay out of her way, but..."

"It's not always possible." Willow understands, she really does. It's like a primal thing. She's been Cordelia's favourite target almost since they first met. At that age you're nowhere near as well equipped to deal with problems. They stay with you, root themselves deep into your psyche. Childish immature taunts eventually morph into more sophisticated immature taunts, but it never feels any easier. Later, you know intellectually that they're only words, that you should just ignore them, but you don't. You can't. Every time it happens you're that small child again, the feeling of helplessness too well ingrained.

"How could I be capable of that, Will? I mean it's not me, but... in a way it is. It's the Cordelia I could've been if... events were different. If my experiences were different. How can that be in me?"

Willow grasps her hands. "You're the sum of your experiences, Delia. Your experiences have taught you the value of empathy, of kindness. That can only create someone good. You might share the same potential that Cordelia had, but you could never be Queen C." She's not sure where she's getting the words from, but she doesn't question the truth of them.

"How can you know that for sure?" Delia asks.

"Because we wouldn't be here talking to each other. Because you wouldn't feel this bad."

Delia looks at her, then slowly nods, raising a hand to her mouth. "I... I need to clean up."

"I'll check out my room again," Willow tells her. "I'll see you in a few minutes and then you can tell me all about myself." The door closes again and Willow looks across to the room she woke up in. Taking a deep breath, she walks into it, wondering when it was she got so good at the pep talk.

At first glance the room still bemuses her. Dark colours, messy, posters all over, model starships strategically placed. The arrowhead saucer section marks out the familiar USS Voyager, but there are several others that she only vaguely recognises at best. She walks over to the frankly massive music collection. The storage unit housing everything nearly takes up a whole wall. Leaning over and tilting her head, she scans some of the spines. Saraya, Joe Satriani, Scandal, Shooting Star, Shotgun Symphony, Strangeways, Survivor...

Shaking her head, she casts her eyes over a couple of loose magazines lying on a shelf. Classic Rock? Hmm, well, not exactly a shock given the other her's main hobby. She picks up the other issue, an odd looking publication called 90 Minutes. As she flips through the first few pages, her eyes widen slightly. Soccer?

"She's tried getting me into that, but I'm afraid I don't follow it very well," Delia announces. Willow turns to her as she enters the room. She looks somewhat better than she did. "Wes can probably help you more with it, she watches a game with him most weekends."

"This is all so strange," Willow admits to her as she sits on the bed. "Does all of this exist somewhere inside of me. The inner tomboy that I never released?"

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Delia admits as she joins her, flopping down onto her stomach and supporting her head with a hand. "You're Willow. This," she gestures around the room with her free hand, "is all normal to me." She doesn't feel normal though, she feels hollow. Cordelia Chase, CEO of the Elite. It just doesn't sound right. There's nothing else for it. She'll have to show Willow that there's at least one Chase family in the vastness of the multiverse who use their powers for good.

"Well... I really love my music here," Willow attempts cheerily, echoing her earlier comment. It doesn't last long. "I can't say I've heard of much of it though."

"Some of the bands Willow likes aren't well known," Delia agrees, turning her mind to one of the subjects she knows best. "But then popular music has drifted a bit over the last few years. Some people like grunge or rap now. Or that techno-dance stuff." Her expression shows she's highly dubious of the merits of all three genres. "As for the noise they call thrash? Well, I think Angel needs to slay some of those vocalists. There's no way they can be human."

Willow smiles. "It's a lot like that back home. I kind of prefer something easier on the ear."

"Oh, do you like Julianne Regan?" Delia ventures hopefully. "I've always thought she has a beautiful voice."

"Sorry, I can't say I know of her. Sarah McLachlan is nice."

Delia nods. "I have Surfacing at home. I put it on when I'm feeling mellow." She looks up at Willow mildly concerned. "She's not very rock though. If you're really going to try and pass yourself off as our Willow, especially with Rick and the guys, you'll need to know this stuff. Do you listen to anything heavier?"

Willow thinks about it. "Four Star Mary? They're kinda new, but sound pretty cool."

The name means nothing to Delia. "I hope you're good at revision, Will, because this is going to be a long day." She pushes herself up and moves over to the hi-fi stack, lifting the lid of the turntable. "Pull something out that you recognise and we'll go from there."

Willow moves over and doubtfully scans the titles again, this time from the beginning. She spots one quickly though and slides it out with a pleased smile, handing it up to Delia.

"Waking Up the Neighbours? Ooh, not bad," Delia appraises as she takes the vinyl from its inner sleeve and places it carefully on the turntable. After flicking the on switch, she moves the tonearm across and gently sets the stylus down onto the rotating disc, between the second and third tracks. In a second, the guitar intro for Can't Stop This Thing We Started sounds and the two girls move back to the bed. Willow listens to the song, determined to take in all that Delia can teach her. Her new friend has set her a challenge and she's going to pass with flying colours. Just like she always does.


End file.
